


Lost Time

by fitztomania



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Drinking, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad Sirius Black
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:05:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4803914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitztomania/pseuds/fitztomania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Sirius was finally back in London, and staying in one place for the foreseeable future, that was where Remus wanted to be.</p><p>(Set during OotP, mature rating for later chapters)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Housewarming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -July-

He came as soon as he got word. Well, that wasn't entirely true; he did make one stop along the way. But when the owl had shown up, Remus had left immediately, because if Sirius was finally back in London, and staying in one place for the foreseeable future, that was where he wanted to be.

Remus Lupin had only been invited to 12 Grimmauld Place once in his life—by Sirius, not his parents, and he certainly hadn't felt welcome—and he hadn't ever officially been back. He'd passed it a few times "unintentionally" (after the Blacks had died, trying to work up the nerve to break in and hopefully find some sort of clue to make sense of Sirius's sudden betrayal; and after Sirius had escaped well over a year ago, trying to work up the nerve to break in and hopefully find, well, Sirius). He climbed the crumbling steps slowly, raised his hand and, with a deep breath and a certain sense of gravity, knocked on the door.

It swung open into blackness. Remus stepped inside, and the door clicked shut behind him. He heard voices down the hall and followed them, eyes slowly adjusting to the dark.

There were people bustling around all the rooms of the main floor, searching the walls and casting spells, jotting things down and placing devices. Remus recognized most of them from the first war years before. In the drawing room, surveying the commotion and barking out orders from a long scroll of parchment on a clipboard, was Minerva McGonagall.

"Oh good, Remus, you're here," she said briskly when she saw him. "Got my owl, then, did you? You're very prompt. What's that?" she asked suddenly, eyeing the parcel in his arms with suspicion.

"Oh, it's, er, a gift, for Sirius," Remus answered, feeling himself flush a bit; Minerva had always had the knack for making him feel like he was in trouble, even as an adult and professional peer. "Is he here?"

She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the staircase, already back to her parchment. "Upstairs, sulking, I expect. Fletcher, what are you doing, I told you not to cut into the wall—"

Remus snuck away while she berated him. He passed the dining room (where more people were gathered around plans of some sort) and the kitchen (where Molly Weasley appeared to be beside herself), and climbed the stairs to the third floor.

There were only two doors on this floor, the closest marked with a tarnished gold "R". The door further down the hall was ajar and had a scant amount of light filtering out from behind it, and had no letter on it, but bore the dusty, worn imprint of the "S" that had once been there.

Remus pushed it open gently, willing his hands not to shake.

Sirius's old room hadn't changed much from the time Remus had been there. Everything was still hung with red and gold; there were the same faded Quidditch posters and photographs and enchanted models of Muggle vehicles, still moving, but sluggishly; and in front of the window, as it always had, stood Sirius's grandfather's brass telescope, now discolored with age.

In the middle of it all, at the foot of his once-magnificent four-poster bed, sat Sirius, elbows on his knees and hands pushed back into his hair. He appeared to be lost in thought. There was a definite lurch in Remus's stomach as he looked at him; Sirius could have been his teenaged self.

Remus cleared his throat, and Sirius looked up.

"Remus," he said blankly, then shook his head briefly like there was water in his ears. His face split into a smile that warmed Remus from the inside out. "You're here! How did you know? We've barely been here two hours. . . "

"Minerva sent me an owl," Remus said, taking a few lazy steps into the room. His movements belied his nerves, which were thin, jittery and singing, like frantic movements on a harp. "Said we were reforming."

"I trust she's briefed you on all the goings-on?"

Remus stopped a few feet in front of Sirius's bed. "Not yet. I wanted to see you first."

Sirius's eyes twinkled. "Moony, I'm touched."

Standing before him like this, Remus could get a proper look at him. Had it really only been a few weeks? When they saw each other last, Sirius had looked like a walking corpse, little more than a skeleton. He wasn't quite the picture of health now—there were still deep purple hollows under his eyes, and his robes still hung on his frame—but in the two months since, his face had become fuller and he had put some meat on his bones, and he looked like he'd been at least trying to take care of himself. And he'd clearly had a shower since he'd arrived back at Grimmauld Place. Remus wondered if it had been the first thing he did; Sirius hated being dirty. He'd spent a good two hours a day in Remus's tub for the week he'd stayed with him.

"How are you holding up?" he asked. Sirius's smile wavered.

"Oh, you know, all right," he said, in a clipped sort of way. "Happy to do my part."

"Of course," Remus said lightly.

Sirius looked past him, raising his eyes to scan the room. "I've spent my whole life trying to get away from this place. . . I never thought in a million years I'd be back." The smile was gone now, and he just looked tired. "Being here, in this house, in this room, it's like a nightmare. And this time, I can't even leave."

Remus didn't know what to say, except, "I know."

And he did know. Sirius had trusted James, bunked with James when he'd run away from home, but he'd confided in Remus. At school they'd shared stories of their home lives in the dark when the other boys were asleep, and Sirius told him things that should have made him go straight to the headmaster. He knew full well what torture it was for him to have to be trapped here.

"Well," Sirius said, putting on a slightly more cheerful tone, though his face didn't reflect it, "I suppose it isn't all bad. I have a home now, and that means Harry can come and stay. . . "

"Mm."

Sirius was quiet, still staring around his old room with the corner of his mouth curled up in distaste. Then his eyes landed on Remus again, and they warmed, and Remus was forcibly reminded of how much time they'd lost, and how much he'd missed him-—until they fell to the paper shop bag under his arm. "What's that?"

"Hm? Oh, this." Remus sat down on the mattress, sending up a small cloud of dust as he did so and holding out the package. "It's just, er. . . Call it a housewarming present."

Sirius peered into the bag.

"Sheets," he said. He seemed confused.

Remus was feeling a bit stupid now, his face growing hot. "I don't know. I got the message from Minerva, and she said you were going to be living here again, and the first thing I thought was, 'Sirius is going to need new sheets.' I don't know why, but I just thought—"

"They're purple," Sirius said, pulling them out of their tissue paper to better look at them.

Remus was sure his cheeks were quite red by now. "Yes. You like purple."

"And plaid."

"You like plaid."

Sirius laughed, catching Remus totally off guard. "I don't know what I was thinking," Remus said hastily. "It was a stupid idea."

"Oh no, Moony, don't, don't be like that." He leaned forward, placing his hand over Remus's and fixing him with such a wide-eyed expression of exaggerated sincerity that Remus had to laugh too. "They're lovely. Thank you."

"Your mother would hate them," Remus pointed out, and Sirius snorted.

"That _is_ true," he said, looking down at the sheets with new fondness. He didn't move his hand, Remus noted with another harp twinge. His hands were thin, the knuckles more prominent than they used to be. Remus rubbed his thumb over Sirius's. He didn't seem to notice.

Then he frowned suddenly. "I'll have to wash the mattress first. . . " He sighed. "This whole place is disgusting. Do you think Harry would even want to stay here?"

A movement in one of the Polaroids on the wall caught Remus. It was a picture of the three of them, Sirius, Remus, and James, all in Hogsmeade in their winter cloaks, laughing. There was snow in James's hair; Sirius had just shoved him into a snowbank. Peter must have taken the picture.

Something twisted sharply in Remus's stomach as he registered that Sirius had asked him a question.

"I think," he said slowly, "that Harry will want to be wherever you are, Sirius."

Sirius's eyes crinkled. "You think?"

There was a loud bang several floors below, and the echoes of Minerva's shouting carried up to them.

"I should go back downstairs," Remus said, gently tugging his hand out from under Sirius's. "See what—Minerva requires of me—"

"Whatever it is, you're not going to like it," Sirius said darkly. "I overheard some of the plans for Hagrid, and I have a feeling yours will have to do with your. . . _problem_ , too."

"I'd be very surprised if it didn't," said Remus, standing, "and I'd be lying if I said I was looking forward to it."

"That's the spirit." Sirius's face went vague and thoughtful. "You'll stick around for a bit, won't you? We can catch up. . . have a drink when everyone else has gone. . . "

"Of course I will," Remus said, because of course he would. Sirius needn't even ask.

Sirius pulled the sheets through his hands, twisting them around his fingers. In a very quiet voice he said, "I'm glad you're here, Moony."

Remus gave him a tight smile, and left him alone with his thoughts. 


	2. Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -October-

_M,_

_Alone. Going mad. Please come._

_-P_

 

***

 

A blast of screeching voices greeted Remus as soon as he entered Grimmauld Place. He clapped his hands over his ears and kicked the door shut behind him. 

"Sirius?!" he yelled. "I thought you were alone!" 

Sirius didn't answer, and he realized after a moment that the old portrait of Sirius's mother was making the majority of the noise. The old bat's eyes rolled back in her head while she shrieked and spat disjointed phrases. 

"DISAPPOINTMENT!" she screeched. "WEAK, CRINGING SCUM! NO SON OF MINE—"  

The cause for this was quickly made apparent. Screwing up his eyes against Mrs. Black's shrill tirade, Remus made his way down the hall and found Sirius lying spread-eagle on the drawing room floor, shouting Electric Light Orchestra's "Evil Woman" at the top of his lungs.  

"What in the hell are you doing?!" Remus shouted, squatting down next to him.  

"Five days, Moony!" Sirius yelled. "I haven't seen another single living soul in FIVE. DAYS. _EE-EE-VIL WOMAN, HOW YA DONE ME WRONG—_ " 

That set off a fresh peal of shrieks from Mrs. Black. Her voice was needling through Remus's hands and directly into all his nerve centers, making him feel jumpy and fried. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" 

"Didn't want to bother you— _NOW YOU TRYIN' TO WAIL ME A DIFFERENT SONG—_ " 

"Oh for FUCK'S SAKE, SIRIUS—" Remus shouted, losing his temper, and he stomped back out into the hallway. With great difficulty (and enduring a string of curses about "half-breeds" and "abominations" alike) he wrenched the curtains shut over her drooling, leathery face. 

Sirius's voice rang out again in the sudden silence and then dropped away. 

He looked up apologetically as Remus sat down on the sofa. "Sorry, Moony. I just—" He scrubbed his hands over his face. " _Rrraagghh_ , I feel like I'm going mental. Before you got here I'd've been happy to see _Snape_." 

Remus massaged his temples. "I've _told_ you, you're never bothering me." 

"No one's come in _five_ _days_ ," Sirius repeated, sitting up. "No drop-ins, no owls, no messages, _nothing_. No one's even come to check that I'm still _here_." 

 _"I'm_ here," said Remus irritably, "and I would have been sooner, if I'd known it meant you didn't have to talk to your horrid mother's portrait for company." 

Sirius picked at a scratch on the back of his hand. He looked absolutely miserable. "I haven't heard from you in weeks. I assumed you were out on a mission for the Order." 

"I was, I got back a few days ago, but _Christ_ , Sirius, your _mother_?" 

"Look around, Remus!" Sirius snapped at him, throwing his arms wide. "This is what I have to work with right now. I am trapped here, in my estranged parents' house, with nothing to do but reflect on my life and wait to be useful or wait to die. It's worse than bloody Azkaban, all right? I _can't. . . do. . . anything_. I'll take my amusements where I can get them." 

"Can't you just leave for a few hours as Padfoot, and—" 

"Dumbledore wants me _supervised_." He spat the word like it was poison. "The house alerts him if I step outside on my own. I tried." 

Remus was stunned. Dumbledore really was imprisoning Sirius in his childhood home. _He has to know what it's doing to him_ , he thought. _How could he not? Dumbledore knows everything. He can't be doing this on purpose, punishing him like this._  

The bitter, angry part of his brain that was connected to all his sore muscles whispered, _Yes, of course he would. Dumbledore keeps secrets. Dumbledore wants leverage, wants power—_

Another thought, related in a way that looked an awful lot like resentment, came almost immediately on the heels of that one. 

"Get up," he said, "We're going out." 

Sirius fixed him with a doleful look. "That's a poor joke, Moony." 

But Remus was already rising to his feet. "I'm not joking. Get up, come on." 

He reached a hand down to Sirius and tugged him up off the floor.  

 

***

 

It had just rained, and Sirius was ecstatic. He ran ahead of Remus, splashing spectacularly into puddles and snatching with his jaws at the birds that had come out to hunt for worms in the damp. Remus followed a little slower than he otherwise might have done, his joints stiff and complaining. He'd been sore for days, ever since he'd got back from his mission. They were getting worse. 

There was a Muggle play park not too far from Sirius's parents' home; Sirius led the way. People were starting to poke out into the post-rain sunshine. Remus was earning looks from the Muggles they passed, and he briefly wished he'd thought to at least _suggest_ putting a lead on Sirius, though of course Sirius would never have it.  

He whistled, and the great black dog returned to his side, nuzzling up against him happily. "There's a good boy." 

They reached the park, and Sirius set off again at a sprint. Remus found himself a bench and discreetly dried it off with his wand, and sat down to watch as Sirius galloped the length of the park with his tongue lolling out of his mouth in the breeze. He did three laps, then bowled through a group of Muggle children, who took up after him, laughing.  

 _God, he really has been going mad in there,_ Remus thought _,_ and kicked himself again for not coming sooner. He should've known—it wasn't like Sirius to stay silent for so long. 

"Is that your dog?"  

Remus glanced up sharply at the Muggle woman who'd somehow managed to sneak up and join him on his bench. "Mine, yes. He is." 

She smiled at him. She was very pretty in an inoffensive sort of way. Curly blond hair, green eyes, and a spray of freckles across her nose. "He's gorgeous," she said. "Shepherd, is he?" 

Remus was about to confirm, and then specify what kind (he used to do it so often it was nearly involuntary), but then he remembered that Groenendaels were not altogether common in Britain—he wouldn't be surprised if Sirius was the only one around for miles—and they were supposed to be lying low. He answered, breezily enough, "You know, the lad told me when I adopted him, but for the life of me I can never remember." The smile he returned was convincingly self-deprecating. "I don't know very much about dogs, I'm afraid." 

She sighed wistfully. Remus watched her eyes as she spoke. "I'd love a dog. My Nathan and I—that's him over there in the red—we _adore_ dogs, but his father's allergic." 

"That's a shame," Remus said, relaxing. People under the control of the Imperius Curse did not talk affectionately about their children. It _was_ a shame, really. His own mother had been allergic as well, and Remus had always felt as though he were making her ill. 

He also couldn't help noticing that though she was wearing a ring, she'd said "his father" and not "my husband". He felt a warm flush creep up over his neck. 

Sirius came padding over then, having apparently noticed that Remus was not alone. 

"Sweet boy," the woman said, watching fondly as Sirius reared up to rest his front legs on the bench between them and lean his head in for a scratch. "He must be very well-trained, he doesn't wear a collar." 

"Oh he does most of the time," Remus said mildly, ignoring the pointed huff Sirius made, "but he is _exceptionally_ well-behaved." 

"What's his name?" 

Remus cast about wildly for a name that wasn't either of theirs and came up with, "Hercules." 

He was going to pay for that later. 

She flashed another flirtatious smile at him. "And yours?"

 

***

 

Remus had barely swung the front door of Number Twelve shut when Sirius transformed. He kicked his muddy boots off and _flump_ ed down on the chaise just inside the sitting room. "God, that was brilliant. What a perfect afternoon." 

Remus leaned against the wall, smiling at him fondly. "It really was, wasn't it?"  

They'd spent an hour or so at the park, Sirius and the kids chasing each other in turn while Remus chatted with the Muggle woman (who was named Marcy, and who scrawled her phone number on Remus's palm before leaving with her son). Sirius found an old ball somewhere and insisted on a game of catch, which ended with Sirius leaping atop of Remus and knocking him down into the muddy grass, and Remus having to wrestle him off, laughing and trying to keep the ball away.  

They walked through the patchy woods surrounding the park, and Remus attempted a quick haphazard Cleaning Charm on his suit while Sirius snapped at birds and butterflies and falling leaves alike. 

When rain threatened again, they went into town and had an early dinner on the covered patio of a small cafe Remus remembered Sirius rather liking, and then they strolled through the misty streets to an ice cream parlor Remus remembered rather liking watching Sirius eat ice cream at.  

He watched now as Sirius stretched luxuriously, arching his back up off the ugly green cushion. He was rewarded with a satisfying-sounding crack.  

"I hadn't had gelato in _ages_ , Moony. Top idea." 

Sirius's old gray jumper rode up when he stretched, and Remus found himself staring, transfixed, at the pale sliver of hip that had been hidden beneath, and the edge of black tattoo.   

He flushed again.  

The perfect afternoon, yes. Best in recent memory. But Remus had a threatening headache and was confused like he hadn't been in years.  

Most wizards forgot on some level, when they were in the presence of an Animagus, that it wasn't _really_ an animal, that it was really a human in disguise. It had never been so for Remus, at least not when he had his— _faculties_ —about him. Today he had been acutely aware that it wasn't just a regular dog leaping into his lap, nosing at his palm, licking his face, but Sirius, with his human motivations and decision-making capabilities; and he remembered, very clearly, a drunken conversation he and Sirius had had years ago, when Remus wanted to know what it was like to become an animal at will, rather than inconveniently and involuntarily, and Sirius had told him how much he hated being expected to be affectionate. 

"I never lick people if I can help it," he had said, passing Remus his silver flask, "but sometimes it can't be helped." 

"Can't it?"  

Sirius shook his head. "Sometimes I need people to like me. And sometimes they have bacon grease on their hands. It's all very diplomatic, being a dog." 

Remus had laughed until his stomach hurt, because he couldn't imagine anything _less_ diplomatic than being a werewolf. 

Now, he sighed. "You know, Sirius, this really has been—nice—but I think I'm going to go." 

"What?" Sirius tipped his head backward off the edge of the chaise to look at him upside-down. "Why?" 

"I've got this headache—I think it's going to turn into a migraine." 

"I've got Tension Tonic." 

"Well, I've—I've still got to write up my report for Dumbledore, you know—" 

"Lucky you, I've got parchment as well." 

Remus sighed again. "Sirius—" 

"Don't give me that teacher sigh," Sirius said, frowning up at him. "And don't leave, not after the day we've had." 

The edge of his jumper was up to his lowest rib, and the tops of his hipbones—still jutting out too far even after months of proper nutrition—were plainly visible over his black jeans. Remus counted three tattoos. 

He wanted to see more, to count them all and fix his mouth to every one, like he'd wanted way back when Sirius had first started collecting them. He swallowed hard. 

"Come on, Moony. I've got Tonic and parchment and a bottle of Adnams. We'll write your report together and get slogged. You can tell me what you've been up to." 

The sun was setting through the grimy curtains, coloring everything a dull greenish-gold. "I shouldn't." 

"Oh, you _really_ should." 

"You just want company," Remus said irritably. "I'll go find Kreacher—" 

"Oh _come on_ , Moony, don't be like that," Sirius complained loudly. "We’ve just had a perfectly lovely afternoon together, and I don't want it to be over." He flopped over onto his stomach and pushed his hair out of his face. "And I've _missed_ you. Stay. Please." 

Remus couldn't see a way of getting out of this without ruining whatever tenuous momentary standstill Sirius was at with his sanity, and his headache was getting worse.  

And he _had_ missed Sirius, with a steady, gnawing hunger so sharp it ached. He was not typically a man given easily to impulse—he'd fought against it for most of his natural life—but at this instant he wanted very much to roll Sirius back over and climb on top of him and fist his hands in his too-long hair and show him _just how much_ he had missed him, not just for these last few weeks but for the last fifteen years.  

Instead, he tore his gaze away from Sirius to glance at the clock.  

"I shouldn't stay _too_ late," he said half-heartedly. At least he could say he'd tried. 

Sirius was already sitting up, grinning. "Oh no, of course not. Wouldn't dream of it. I'll get the whiskey."

 

***

 

Remus didn't go home that night, but he hadn't really been expecting to. And he didn't write his report for Dumbledore, although they did use up four rolls of parchment and an entire bottle of Animated Ink on a lengthy and terrible story about an evil unicorn, accompanied by some questionable cartoons.  

He did take the aspirin, though, and his headache did go away. And though he stopped just short of getting sloppy and stupid, Sirius did not. Sirius was operating at almost full wattage and severely lowered inhibitions, all halogen grins and easy laughter and clumsy touches, leaning into Remus to suggest more potent verbiage, drinking whiskey from Remus's glass, and stealing the quill to scratch a truly awful phoenix tattoo onto Remus's upper arm. 

"I'm already one mythical creature," Remus objected, but he was giggling. "You're trying to make me a magical zoo." 

"No no _no_ , Moony, it's called _misdirection_ , all the Muggle magickants use it. No one will suspect."  

"Magickants?" 

"Majickians. Majeeshins." Sirius grinned lazily and pressed his forehead to Remus's shoulder. "Don't laugh, you prick." 

It was late when they finally tripped up the stairs, Sirius to his own room and Remus to Regulus's. Remus fell asleep as soon as his head hit the dusty pillow, and he did not dream. 

 

*** 

 

When he woke again suddenly, sitting up in panic, the room was pitch dark, and for a moment he didn't know where he was. His brain was thick and sluggish with sleep, moving slowly while his heart beat like a caged bird against his ribs. 

The silk sheets shook the memory loose before anything else did—Remus didn't own anything that fine. Slowly the details filled in around him: carved ash bedposts; a heavy black writing desk with ivory inlays; green silk damask wallpaper.  

He clutched his chest, willing his pulse to slow, and breathed deep. _Nothing. It was nothing. You just fell asleep in Sirius's creepy old house, that's all. In his brother's creepy old room._  

Then he heard a noise from the other side of the wall. 

He glanced over sharply, imagining his wolf's ears pricked, attuned to any sound that might be out of the ordinary.  

He heard it again—a soft cry. 

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and padded, barefoot, out into the hallway. He pushed Sirius's door open. "Sirius?"  

He could just make him out, curled in on himself in the dark, his covers kicked to the floor. He was making low, terrible sounds. 

Remus crossed to him in three quick strides and climbed onto his bed, kneeling over him on the damp sheets. He was shaking, and his hands were claws, gripping tight in his hair. He looked so fragile like this, still too thin and pale, tattoos smudging into the dark, so breakable Remus was almost afraid to touch him.  

He laid a hand, hesitantly, on Sirius's bare back. 

Sirius jerked awake with a hard, horrid gasp, spasming under Remus's touch.  

"Shh, Sirius, it's me," Remus whispered desperately. "It's just me. You're all right." 

Sirius's eyes were wild, and he gulped in air like a fish out of water, in painful-sounding breaths. "Remus?"  

"Yes, yes, I'm here." 

Sirius's eyes squeezed shut, and he made a noise like a strangled sob.  

"It's all right," Remus murmured. He reached up to dislodge Sirius's rigid fingers from his hair. "It's all right. You're all right." He pulled one of Sirius's hands away and lifted it to his mouth, and pressed his lips briefly to the knuckles. "You're not in Azkaban anymore." 

"Remus," Sirius moaned, "I'm—I'm sorry—" 

"Shh, it's all right." 

"I didn't want—you to see—" 

"Shh, it's all right, it's all right, Pads." Remus eased down next to Sirius, and propped himself up on an elbow. "I'm not going anywhere." 

He'd been having the nightmares when he came to stay with Remus months ago—one night so bad that Remus couldn't wake him, and he screamed and screamed and woke the neighbors—but Remus had assumed they'd stopped. Assumed that if they were still happening, Sirius would have told him. Apparently wrongly. 

How often did they happen? How many nights did Sirius lie here, alone in the dark, tormented until morning—and how many nights did he go without sleep? 

When he was finally beginning to drop off again, Remus made to sit up. 

Sirius's fingers closed around his wrist. "Don't," he breathed. "Please." 

Remus felt his breath catch in his chest. He whispered, "I was just getting the sheets." 

He leaned down and picked the twisted bundle up off the floor, disentangled the damp topsheet from Sirius's blankets, and spread them out over the two of them.  

Did anyone else hear him, when other members of the Order came to stay? Did they come to see what was wrong?  

Did Snape? 

 _There_ was a thought, and Remus didn't like it one bit. Did Snape ever stay here overnight? Remus made a mental note to ask Dumbledore, the next time he saw him. Or maybe in a postscript to his report.  

Sirius curved against him, his breathing warm and slow and even on Remus's skin, one of his hands curled on Remus's bare stomach, and the recurring grade-school thought of giving Severus a proper bloody nose melted away. 

He rented out his flat the next week. 


End file.
